


The Mountain that is the World

by ertrunkener_Wassergeist



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Folklore, Gen, Niflheim (Final Fantasy XV), Niflheimr Culture, Post-Game(s), Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:07:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25526416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ertrunkener_Wassergeist/pseuds/ertrunkener_Wassergeist
Summary: Aranea is the second person to enter the throne room after the dawn has finally come again. What she finds there reminds her of a tale her people used to tell.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 31





	The Mountain that is the World

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys!
> 
> This was inspired by a prompt over on tumblr. The prompt was :"What The Thunder Said". Which is the title of a poem by T.S. Eliot. (It's a great work, I recommend people to read it.)  
> Me being me, I picked up part of the imagery and went totally sideways with it. It's kinda niche, I realize, but I hope y'all enjoy it anyway!
> 
> Have fun!

There was a story that had been very popular within her tribe. The story about the Burning Sky and the Mountain Without Water. The scene in front of her made her remember it again.

Aranea was the second person to enter the throne room. Cor had been the first. A part of her wished the older man had died before he had to see this. But he hadn’t, the Immortal yet again, stance rigid and face expressionless.

Sunlight danced through the dust caked windows and the hole in the wall. It was bright. Glittering. Too bright and glittering, and it made her eyes hurt. How could Cor just stand there, staring?

But Aranea bore the burning in her eyes with all the stoic preserverance of her people, because she could do nothing less. Looking away would be a shame she would not be able to bear.

_Amacha’m sul itak. Ina rem’ye._

The dead are with the sun. Do not look away.

There, upon the Lucian throne, shrouded in sunlight, as if it was a funeral shroud of her people, Noctis Lucis Caelum, CXIV, the Chosen King, sat. Chin sunken to his chest as if in deep reverence, with a sword plunged through his breast bone.

Dead.

He was dead.

The water that had been promised to their world was gone.

* * *

There was a story that had been very popular within her tribe.

The world was a mountain, it said. And one day it would turn to dust and sand, as all things did. All things, but the souls of living beings. Those became fire and formed the sun.

Once upon a time, there had been water on the mountain that was the world. Water that formed rivers and lakes, and everything had been one large oasis. Life had been gentle, so the souls that made the sun had been gentle.

But then the sky had burned. Thousands and thousands of angry dying souls had burned, had given the sky an eerie orange gleam, and smoke had covered the sky.

The burning lasted for days.

The smoke and ash stayed even longer.

And the desert people had despaired because their ancestors had been stolen from them. The sun! The sun had been swallowed by anger and hate!

No one knew for how long the dark had stayed, but after it had finally dissipated, everything was different.

The sun burned.

It burned the green things to sand and dust and many animals and humans followed. It made the sun burn even hotter.

But the people preserved. It was not their time yet. Sun and moon had not become one yet, to grind the mountain that was the world to dust and sand, to form new stars for another world.

They preserved, but the water had been stolen from them, and it had been the people beyond the horizon that had taken it. They, in their folly, had angered the one being who granted souls an immortal life and a place to stay.

And now all living things payed the price.

* * *

Over the years Aranea had become convinced that Noctis Lucis Caelum would be the one to return the water to the mountain that was the world. And in a way he had done it. The sun still burned, but it was _there_.

When she died, her soul would not wander the dust and sand, lost for all eternity. But it was a bitter comfort.

Because the water had not returned.


End file.
